The first one itched.The second one stung.The third one burned.The fourth one hurt like hell The fifth one told about never stoppingThe sixth one made him cryThe seventh one had him screamingThe eighth one took his eyesThe ninth one took his tongueThe tenth made him grateful because he could sleep after

He couldn't see the sun but felt its heat stroke his skin. The air smelt stale and blood and he was so glad he couldn't see. Glad he couldn't scream. The broken glass under his feet splintered and exploded into his already bleeding soles, spreading small fires of pain into his burning veins. He would never get out. He was trapped here. Under. He could hear them move up above. They would soon come again, they had promised. They liked to see him bleed and tell him how pretty he was with the crimson stains covering his body. He tried to fight them off and they laughed. Maybe they would give him his eyes back one day so he could see for himself.He didn't want that. He didn't want to see. Didn't want to see what his children had become.